The Other Potter a Harry Potter story
by LunarNoodle
Summary: Follow Rosemary Azalea Potter through her years at Hogwarts.


**I DON'T OWN HARRY POTTER (obviously) THE STORY BELONGS TO J.K ROWLING. I ONLY ADDED SOME OF MY STUFF TO THE STORY.**

 **I only own the character Rosemary, and some one-time characters in the story. That's all.**

 **But for now, please enjoy the story, and tell me what you think of this chapter in the comments!**

 **See ya!**

A man appeared out of nowhere, silently and suddenly; it was almost like he popped out of the ground, the tabby cat on the street's corner eye's narrowed.

Nothing like this man had ever been seen on Privet Drive. He was tall, thin, and very old, judging by his silver hair and beard, which were both long enough to tuck into his belt. He was wearing long robes, that had a long, purple cloak covering them that swept on the

And he was wearing high-heeled, buckled boots. His blue eyes were light, bright, and sparkling behind half-moon spectacles and his nose was very long and crooked, as though it had been broken at least twice. This man's name was Albus Dumbledore.

Albus Dumbledore didn't seem to realize that he had just arrived in a street where everything by his name, clothes, and boots was unwelcomed, he was too busy rummaging through his cloak looking for something. But he did appear to realize that he was being watched because soon he had looked up at the tabby cat at the other end of the street.

And for some odd reason, the sight of the cat had amused him. He chuckled and muttered, "I should have known."

He found what he was looking for inside his pocket. It looked to be a silver cigarette lighter. He flicked it open, held it in the air, and clicked it. The nearest street lamp went out with a little pop. He clicked again — the next lamp flickered into the darkness. Twelve times he clicked the Put-Outer until the only lights left on the street are two tiny pinpricks in the distance, which were the eyes of the tabby cat watching him. If anyone were to look out their windows, no one would be able to see anything that was happening, not even beady-eyed Mrs. Dursley.

Dumbledore slipped the Put-Outer back into his cloak and set off down the street towards number four, to where he sat down on the wall right next to the tabby cat, he didn't look at it at all, but after a few moments, he spoke to it.

"Fancy seeing you here, Professor McGonagall."

He turned to give a smile to the tabby cat, but it was gone. Instead, he was now smiling at a rather severe-looking woman, who was wearing square glasses exactly the shape of the markings around the cat's eyes. She, too, was dressed in a cloak, an emerald one.

Her black hair was put in a tight bun. She looked distinctly ruffled.

"How did you know it was me?" she asked.

"My dear Professor, I've never seen a cat sit so stiffly."

"You'd be stiff too if you'd been sitting on a brick wall all day," said Professor McGonagall.

"All day? When you could be celebrating? I must have passed a dozen of feasts and parties on my way here."

Professor McGonagall sniffed.

"Oh yes, everyone's celebrating, all right," she said impatiently. "You'd think they'd be more careful, but no – even the Muggles have noticed something's going on. It was on their news." She jerked her head back at the Dursleys' dark living-room window. "I heard it, flocks of owls… Shooting stars… Well, they're not completely stupid. They were bound to notice something. Shooting stars down in Kent – I'll bet that was Dedalus Diggle. He never made much sense."

"You can't blame them," said Dumbledore gently. "We've had precious little to celebrate for eleven years."

"I know that," said Professor McGonagall irritably. "But that gives no reason to lose our heads. People are downright careless, out on the streets in broad daylight, not even dressed in Muggle clothes, swapping rumors."

She threw a sharp sideways glance at Dumbledore here, as though hoping he was going to tell her something, but he didn't, so she continued. "A fine thing it would be if, on this very day You-Know-Who seems to disappear, at last, the Muggles found out all about us. I suppose he really has gone, Dumbledore?"

"It certainly seems so," said Dumbledore. "We have much to be thankful for. Would you care for a lemon drop?"

"A _what?"_

"A lemon drop. They're a kind of Muggle sweet I have grown rather fond of."

"No, thank you," said Professor McGonagall coldly, as though she didn't think it was time for a lemon drop. "As I say, even if You-Know-Who _has gone_ — "

"My dear Professor, surely a sensible person like yourself can call him by his name? All this 'You-Know-Who' nonsense — for eleven years I have been trying to persuade people to call him by his proper name: Voldemort." Professor McGonagall flinched, but Dumbledore, who was unsticking two lemon drops, seemed not to notice. "It all gets so confusing if we just keep saying 'You-Know-Who.' I have never seen any reason to be frightened to say Voldemort's name."

"I know you haven't," said Professor McGonagall, sounding half exasperated, half admiring. "But you're different. Everyone knows you're the only one You-Know- oh, alright, Voldemort, was frightened of."

"You flatter me," said Dumbledore calmly. "Voldemort had powers I will never have."

"Only because you are too — well — noble to use them."

"It's lucky it's dark, I haven't blushed this much since Madam Pomfrey told me she liked my new earmuffs."

Professor McGonagall shot a sharp look at Dumbledore and said, "The owls are nothing next to rumors that are flying around. You know what everyone's saying? About why he's disappeared? About what finally stopped him?"

It seemed that Professor McGonagall had reached the point she was most anxious to discuss, the real reason she had been waiting on a cold, hard wall all day, for neither as a cat nor as a woman had she fixed Dumbledore with such a piercing stare as she did now. It was plain that whatever "everyone" was saying, she was not going to believe it until Dumbledore confirmed it was true. Dumbledore, however, was choosing another lemon drop and did not answer.

"What they're saying," she pressed on, "is that last night Voldemort turned up in Godric's Hollow. He went to find the Potters. The rumor is that Lilly and James Potter are — are — that they're — _dead._ "

Dumbledore bowed his head. Professor McGonagall gasped.

"Lily and James… I can't believe it… I didn't want to believe it… Oh, Albus…"

Dumbledore reached out and patted her on the shoulder, "I know… I know…" he said heavily.

Professor McGonagall's voiced trembled as she went on. "That's not all. They're saying he tried to kill the Potters' son and daughter, Harry, and Rosemary. But — he couldn't. He couldn't kill the little boy or girl. No one knows why, or how, but they're saying that when he couldn't kill Harry or Rosemary Potter, Voldemort's power somehow broke — and that's why he's gone."

Dumbledore nodded glumly.

"It's — it's true?" faltered Professor McGonagall. "After all, he's done… All the people he's killed… He couldn't kill a little boy or girl? It's just astounding… Of all the things to stop him… But how in the name of heaven did Harry and Rosemary survive?"

"We can only guess," said Dumbledore. "We may never know."

Professor McGonagall pulled out a lace handkerchief and dabbed at her eyes beneath her spectacles. Dumbledore gave a great sniff as he took a golden watch from his pocket and examined it. It was a very odd watch. It had twelve hands but no numbers; instead, little planets were moving around the edge. It must have made sense to Dumbledore, though, because he put it back in his pocket and said:

"Hagrid's late. I suppose it was he who told you I'd be here, by the way?"

"Yes," said Professor McGonagall. "And I don't suppose you're going to tell me why you're here, of all places?"

"I've come to bring Harry and Rosemary to their aunt and uncle. They're the only family they have left now."

"You don't mean — you can't mean the people who live here?" cried Professor McGonagall, jumping to her feet and pointing at number four. "Dumbledore — you can't. I've been watching them all day. You couldn't find two people less like us. And they've got a son — I saw him kicking his mother all the way up the street, screaming for sweets. Harry and Rosemary Potter come and live here!"

"It's the best place for them," said Dumbledore firmly. "Their aunt and uncle will be able to explain everything to them when they're older. I've written them a letter."

"A letter?" repeated Professor McGonagall faintly, sitting back down on the wall. "Dumbledore, you think you can explain all this in a letter? These people will never understand them! They'll be famous — a legend — I wouldn't be surprised if today was from now on know in the future as Harry and Rosemary Potter Day — there will be books written about Harry and Rosemary — every child in our world will know their name!"

"Exactly," said Dumbledore, looking very seriously over the top of his half-moon glasses. "It would be enough to turn and boy or girl's head. Famous before they can walk and talk! Famous for something they won't even remember Can't you see how much better off they'll be, growing away from all that until they're ready to take it?"

Professor McGonagall opened her mouth, changed her mind, swallowed, and then said, "Yes — yes, you're right, of course. But how are they getting here, Dumbledore?" She eyed his cloak suddenly as though she thought he was somehow hiding both Harry and Rosemary underneath it.

"Hagrid's bringing

"You think it — wise — to trust Hagrid with something as important as this?"

"I would trust Hagrid with my life,"

"I'm not saying his heart isn't in the right place said Professor McGonagall grudgingly, "but you can't pretend he's not careless. He does tend to — what was that?"

A low rumbling sound had broken the silence around them. It grew steadily louder as they looked up and down the street for some sign of headlights; it swelled to a roar as they both looked up at the sky — and a huge motorcycle fell out of the air and landed on the road in front of them.

If the motorcycle was huge. It was nothing compared to the man riding it. He was almost twice as tall as a normal man and at least five times as wide. He looked simply too big to be allowed, and so wild — long tangles of bushy black hair and beard hid most of his face, he had hands the size of trash can lids and his feet in their leather boots were like the size of baby dolphins. In his vast, muscular arms he was holding two bundles of blankets.

"Hagrid," said Dumbledore, sounding relieved. "At last. And where did you get the motorcycle?"

"Borrowed it. Professor Dumbledore, sir." said the giant, climbing carefully off the motorcycle as he spoke. "Young Sirius Black lent it to me. I've got them, sir."

"No problem was there?"

"No, sir — house was almost destroyed, but I got them out all right before the Muggles started swarmin' around. They both fell asleep as we was flyin' over Bristol."

Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall bent forward over the bundles of blankets. Inside, just visible, were a baby boy and girl, both fast asleep. Under a tuft of the boy's jet-black hair, was a curiously shaped cut, like a bolt of lightning, and under a tuft of the girl's bright orange hair, there was a cut shaped like a diamond.

"Is that where — ?" whispered Professor McGonagall.

"Yes," said Dumbledore. "They'll have those scars forever."

"Couldn't you do something about them, Dumbledore?"

"Even if I could, I wouldn't. Scars can come in handy. I have one myself above my left knee that is a perfect map of the London Underground. Well — give them here. Hagrid — we'd better get this over with."

Dumbledore took Harry and Rosemary in his arms and turned towards the Dursley's house.

"Could I — could I say goodbye to them, sir?" asked Hagrid. He bent his great, shaggy head of Harry and gave him what must have been a very scratchy, whiskery kiss. Then he did the same to Rosemary, and then, suddenly, Hagrid let out a howl like a wounded dog.

"Shhh!" hissed Professor McGonagall, "You'll wake the Muggles!"

"S-s-sorry." sobbed Hagrid, taking out a large, spotted handkerchief and burying his face in it. "But I c-c-can't stand it — Lily an' James dead — an' poor little Harry and Rosemary of ter live with Muggles —"

"Yes, yes, it's all sad, but get a grip on yourself, Hagrid, or we'll be found," Professor McGonagall whispered, patting Hagrid gingerly on the arm as Dumbledore stepped over the low garden wall and walked to the front door. He laid Harry down first, and then Rosemary on the doorstep took out a letter from his cloak, tucked it inside Harry's blanket, and then came back to the other two.

For a full minute the three of them stood and looked at the little bundles; Hagrid's shoulders shook, Professor McGonagall blinked furiously, and the twinkling light that usually shone in Dumbledore's eyes seem to have gone out.

"Well," said Dumbledore finally, "that's that. We've got no business staying here. We may as well go and join the celebrations."

"Yeah," said Hagrid, in a muffled voice, "I'd best get this bike back. G'night, Professor McGonagall — Professor Dumbledore, sir."

Wiping his streaming eyes on his jacket sleeve, Hagrid swung himself onto the motorcycle and kicked the engine to life; with a roar, it rose into the air and off into the night.

"I shall see you soon, I expect, Professor McGonagall," said Dumbledore, nodding to her. Professor McGonagall blew her nose in reply.

Dumbledore turned and walked back down the street. On the corner, he stopped and took out the Put-Outer. He clicked it once, and twelve balls of light sped back to their street lamps so that Privet Drive glowed suddenly orange and he could make out a tabby cat slinking around the corner at the other end of the street. He could just see two bundles of blankets on the step of number four.

"Good luck, Harry, Rosemary," he murmured. He turned on his heel with a swish of his cloak; he was gone.

A breeze ruffled the neat hedges of Privet Drive, which lay silent and tidy under the inky sky, the very last place you would expect astonishing things to happen. Harry and Rosemary rolled over inside their blankets without waking up.

One small hand closed on the letter beside Harry, and they both sleep on, both not knowing that they were special, not knowing they were famous, not knowing that they both would be woken up in a few hours' time by Mrs. Dursley's scream as she opened the front door to put out the milk bottles, nor knowing they both would be spending the next few weeks being prodded and pinched by their cousin Dudley. . . . They couldn't know that at that very moment, people meeting in secret all over the country were holding up their glasses and saying in hushed voices: "To Harry and Rosemary Potter — the twins who lived!"

 **DONE!**

 **You have no idea have many times I messed up with the words... I wrote everything from my book... My fingers. They feel like they're dead, is that normal after writing for so long?**

 **Please tell me it**

 **But anyways!**

 **I hope you enjoyed this. Like I said, in the beginning, I do not own Harry Potter** **if I did Snape, Fred, Tonks, and so many more wouldn't have... died. Q^Q**

 **I shouldn't have mentioned that. But I do hope you enjoyed this!**

 **See ya!**


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